


Daddy Vice

by Alphatsar



Category: 1776 (1972), 18th Century CE RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, I'm so sorry for this train wreck, Jedams, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 05:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16212770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphatsar/pseuds/Alphatsar
Summary: Maybe he misheard his younger congressman. Perhaps his mind in its pleasure-addled state processed Thomas's cries incorrectly.Right?``This train wreck was born from two quotes:1. "According to present Appearances Jefferson will be a Dady Vice." John Adams from First Family by Joseph J. Ellis2. Not cited Quote on how Jefferson seemed a boy to John Adams





	Daddy Vice

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for this utter garbage I wrote. I just really like 1776 and Jedams and want to be a part of this fandom. I'm afraid I'll be kicked out before I can even joined. If this work is that horrible I will gladly delete this and try other fic ideas in the future. Hopefully someone out there will enjoy this...

At first John is unsure if he has heard it. This is not surprising given that intense pleasure often robs him of cognitive and rational thoughts, especially where Thomas is concerned.

Maybe he misheard his younger congressman. Perhaps his mind in its pleasure-addled state processed Thomas's cries incorrectly.

The man is panting beneath him more so than speaking anyways. A lost babble a testimony to his own pleasures beneath John Adams and his ministrations. What few words that pass through his lips border on incomprehensible to inarticulate. A swear here and blasphemy there smatter what few words he can manage.

A breathless utterance is not a new addition to their, by now, familiar meetings. The possibility of _that_ word, is. John has to slow his rolling hips as his mind processes what his younger colleague had cried out. Jefferson, by virtue of being the younger of the pair, is often the one to supply the more intriguing ideas of their couplings. His academic mind and quiet wisdom has painted many of their personal time spent together.

This is not to say John has none to supply himself, but with a mind like his Virginian congressman, there are plenty of arousing surprises that spring up in their romps. Like this for instance, the shorter man reasons as the rest of his logic escapes him when Thomas begins his litany of throaty choruses again.

"More, more--please!" The lithe form bows back and a broken sob escapes the younger man's throat. "Daddy, please."

Ah. So he did say it.

"Wha--? Tom, good God man," John eases his thrusts to gentle nudges and pulls back enough to try to catch the writhing man's eyes. He tried for a soft chuckle, still incapable of processing what has just transpired. "Tom." He tries again when the man continues to rut back in a delirious fever of pleasure. Something about this newfound title leaves Thomas in a mess of arousal.

Good God, he only had eight years seniority over the Virginian. Hardly enough to deserve that title. Goodness knows they themselves were fathers, with devoted and loving wives waiting for them in their respective houses. What would either lady say were they to hear such a title? What would Peter Jefferson ay if he witnessed his son at this moment? (May the man rest in peace.)

"Daddy, please, I'll be good, just please!"

"My dear boy, I think the heat has prevailed your senses." And your sanity, John ponders silently. No need to upset his boy any, though. He's a sensitive soul for all his bearings. John has had to learn to adapt to this new dynamic of their relationship. And it seems he will have to adapt yet again to his lover's newest needs. John gives a sharp huff of a chuckle, intent to returning to a more steady thrum of nudges against his lover. He has just committed himself to this new game when he has to stop.

It is then that something flickers across Thomas's face. The slow dawning realization creeps into the Virginian's eyes. A horrified countenance replaces the enraptured features, and John slowly withdraws from Thomas as the man's shame catches up to him.

John sits back enough to allow Thomas the courtesy to distance himself from their joining. Surely this is embarrassing, but certainly not something meriting any abrasive language or rebuttal from John. So he waits, hoping Thomas will gather his wits again and they will continue where they left. Should Thomas wish to continue. By how those too long limbs tangle about themselves ad how the freckled back is all John i met with in the ensuing silence, this seems unlikely.

With a sigh, John  ignores his own aching need and slides back to recline beside the freckled mess before him. He props himself up against his right elbow just enough to peer over his larger compatriot.

"Mr. Jefferson," he begins cautiously. Wrong words. A rigid back and more hugging of limbs. No, this will not do.

"Thomas, please."

Nothing still. The Bostonian regards the stiff back, sparing no time for how often he found the splattering of random freckles so endearing. He must focus on withdrawing Thomas first and foremost. The Bostonian gives a soft exhalation, a quiet thought glitters through his eyes and he presses against his beloved to kiss along the bunched shoulders presented to him. At first Tom makes to retreat from the contact but finds he can no longer encircle his form any further.

"Leave me alone, Mr. Adams."

Another kiss to the shoulder. "I will do nothing of the sort."

"Please. I apologize for my irrational behavior."

A kiss to the sensitive nape of neck. "Dear boy," a soft exhaling, a small chuckle, "there is nothing for you to apologize for."

A pause, then, "Here, come to me." With patience and maneuvering only on John's part, he manages to disentangle the miserable man from about his person. Some minor adjustments and John has Thomas laying propped atop his chest. Though short and a bit softer in the middle than Thomas, often times it is in this position that the younger man finds comfort. John is hoping to provide that solace now.

A hand, almost without purpose or thought, absently strokes through the fine hairs before them, palm still damp and clammy. John's blue eyes follow it instead of the blank gaze Thomas is providing to their bed post. It is disquieting to say the least, but John is secure in knowing the man has not fallen too deeply into his own self-depreciation and despair. Especially when he feels the minute pressure of the man's cheek nuzzling against his chest.

"I'm not offended." He offers with his rich voice. An olive branch for anything that might have been misconstrued as a rebuttal or offensive. "It's nothing to worry about."

"John. Don't." Thomas pleads, supplicating any further vocalizations with soft, weak kisses up the man's sweaty chest and into the hairs that coat it. Tom plants soft kisses up to the sternum of his bed mate before lowering his greedy lips to the pink teat of John's right nipple sucking gently, but no less quietly. "Dear boy..." John pants as his body quivers with renewed arousal. He is ready to push his naughty boy back and return to what they had started. To take him there until he spends all over the sheets and whines like a needy wench--but. John does not wish to drop his cause, as is often his wont. And has often lead to his many woes with Congress. It would not do to leave this disrepair between them. And he knows a distraction when he sees it. Or rather feels it.

They need to discuss this addition to their love life. This wild utterance that drives his boy to wild fantasizing and untempered pleasure. With monumental patience and effort, John manages to push Thomas away from his person, the phantom of the slick warmth of his colleague's eager mouth lingering.

"Did you truly enjoy that, well _that_ \--?" He had no proper way to identify what he spoke of, and thus left it unnamed, but certainly implied between them to let Thomas decide.

The miserable look he got back was enough to twist his great gut, a trepidation left swelling i his chest as his heart tried to regulate it's prior rhythm. This man so affected him.

"Yes," came the meek, hushed reply as Thomas bowed his head further to nestle against the other man's chest.

Oh.

Oh, his sensitive companion. So quiet and full of academic wisdom seldom few exhibited, especially in Congress.  So lively and passionate in the throes of their trysts. So very much his dearest companion along with his beloved Abigail.

"Tom," he tried to placate the man's sensitivities, inflicting as much affection ad endearment into the other's name. It had the opposite effect of drawing the man out, and instead the taller man seemed to press tighter to his rounded frame and distance himself further by refusing to meet John's gaze. Shame did not suit his Thomas. Not at all.

"My dear boy," he knew how much Thomas loved being entitled to that pet name. It seemed fitting when Thomas was in fact the younger of the pair, though now John suspects in light of their current dilemma, it makes sense.

"Boy." It had the desired effect this time as he saw as much as felt Thomas shudder against his frame.

Ah.

"My dear boy," John can feel his confidence bolster as he talks. He can do this, he will play his part. His hand slides down the sweat-ridden flesh of Jefferson's back. "Would you like to try again, Boy?" The pet name feels official enough for it to warrant that special emphasis. The near-squeal cements it.

"Yes." A breathy cry. It sounds so young that it bellies the thirty-plus years that encompass Thomas's life.

"Yes." A hand slides up the expanse of his chest to cup John's chin as Thomas initiates a timid kiss. As if he is asking for permission.

The unspoken plea needs to be addressed if they are to continue in this new manner.

"My needy Boy--" a quick rut to his thigh in acknowledgment, "you needn't worry, Daddy will take care of you--" a wild groan escapes Tom's throat as he cants his hips further against the older man's thighs. Here he is reduced to a hormonal mess, as if he truly was a young boy. Beautiful.

"Now, now," John tries to regain control over their situation, putting his mind to work on how to best satisfy his needy lover. Abigail often praised it during their own lovemaking. So he turns to his wits now to soothe Thomas further. He rolls them over, winding up on top of the gangly red head, arms going around to brace those all too long legs. From his new vantage he can see just how much his words hold Thomas. From the lost lustful gaze, the fresh trail of sweat that creeps along the exposed neck, and to the most damnable evidence of a very neglected and swollen cock. The organ is turgid with need and a small trickle of thick milky white pearls down the tip. It makes for a tantalizing prize.

"Is there something my Boy desires?" This ia a fun game, a new invigorating element to their current affairs. Yes, John can play his part. Anything for his sweet boy.

"Don't tease me, John. Please..."

John casts a mock glare of disapproval at this. Tutting softly he thrusts once, enough to upend Thomas momentarily. "That's no way to address me."

Thomas is left panting and twisted on his side while John retains his hold over his lower half of his freckled torso. He seems to be searching for something as if expecting a trap or disapproval. His boy always needs approval.

"Well?"

"Yes," barely audible. "Yes, D-daddy." A slight stutter gives away his uncertainty, but John stamps it out immediately.

"Good Boy." John acknowledges the sweat sheen and flushed face of need n the Virginian's eyes before redoubling his efforts to slip back into the warmth of Thomas's body. He is still loose from their prior attempt. A small droplet falls from his cockstand as John adjusts himself further inside Thomas. His body was meant for this, he reasons with just an ounce of clarity as pleasure yet again robs his senses.

He almost forgets his part.

"Ah, such a good Boy. Just for me."

"Yes, yes! Please Daddy, only you." John lets a snort escape, those sweet pleas winning him over.

"Very well, very well," he drawls as if he were a native of the south, bored and unhurried as he presses further into the needy man beneath him. The creaking bed and its disjointed rhythm accompany their moans and joining.

It is little surprise that Thomas is already close to spending. His new addiction and its acceptance has already placed him so close to the precipice. He is so close it hurts! Just a little more, a nudge there, sharp thrust--

"Daddy, _please_!"

John aligns himself for a final deep thrust, his own climax drawing near. He pushes back one. Final. Time.

"Boy..." A gasp. A whine. Thomas sags beneath John's hold.

The tremors of the aftershock reverberated against John and the familiar warm dip to his middle accompanies his own release with a sigh.  Sweat and panting accompany the men as they pull apart, wobbly in their coordination. John promptly collapses onto the sheets beside Thomas, finding the man's shaking arms braced against him.

"That," a huff, a sigh, "That was," nervous chuckle.

John smiles, content, careful and full of love. The adoration n his gaze reaches Tomas as the man adjusts himself atop his side of he bed. A pillow somehow materializes beneath his head after a moment of blind grappling below. John is content to lay on just the sheets, no pillow to recline on, watching the steady rise and fall of his lover's chest as his breathing evens out.

"John," comes a timid request. Muzzy from the extortion, the Bostonian can only hum his response. "Thank you." It's said in such a quiet tone that any other soul could never hope to decipher it. But John knows Thomas too well, and despite his mumbling he knows what is said.

"As I've said, nothing to worry about." And truly there was not, in that single moment, a worry to care about.


End file.
